


To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

by weepingnaiad



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: After Mirkwood Burned, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> This is nothing more than a little comfort after the destruction of Dol Guldur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ryo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryo/gifts).



> **A/N:** This is for my dearest, Ryo. It was started at least a year ago for her birthday and the muses fled when I was barely halfway through it. I don’t know what encouraged them to speak again, but it is finally finished. I didn’t wait for it to be beta’d, because it is long overdue. Think of it as your Valentine’s card, m’dear!  
>  **A/N 2:** The title was obviously stolen from Shakespeare, but really has no hidden meaning beyond face value.  
>  **Disclaimer:** The characters and world belong to the Master himself, Tolkien. I am only borrowing them so they can come out and frolic a bit, not intending any copyright infringement of any sort. I do own my original characters, but they are available for parties!

Thranduil wiped the soot from his face, his eyes grim and determined as he surveyed the damage, the losses almost too staggering to bear. 

“Sire? You sent for me?”

Thranduil turned away from the carnage, sneezing as he sucked more of the ever present swirling ash into his nostrils. His captain was standing there, posture erect, but brittle, his blackened cheeks streaked and smeared, his eyes conveying the fear that their victory could not blot out. 

Menelglar was barely holding on, the lack of news nearly suffocating both of them, but the king could close his eyes and feel, _know_ that his mate was well no matter the distance that separated them. And he had to believe, refused to think anything else was possible, that Legolas was alive and well, though he’d have more than a few choice words for his errant son when next they met. By the look in Menelglar’s eyes, he’d have to wait until his captain was through with Legolas before getting his barbs in.

“Walk with me, Menelglar.” Thranduil’s voice was rough from the soot and smoke, thick with emotion.

Menelglar knew him too well and his eyes widened, his throat swallowing convulsively. He ducked his head quickly before lifting his pleading gaze back to Thranduil’s.

Thranduil smiled, hoping to reassure, as he strode away. The privacy was as much for the king as for Menelglar. Neither of the proud elves wanted witnesses to their fragile emotions.

“What is it? Have you news?” Menelglar hissed when they were out of earshot of the Lórien warriors. Celeborn might be an ally, but this was private.

“A messenger bird arrived with the dawn. From Gondor. The ring is destroyed.” As the king repeated the words his smile grew, though his eyes stung. He clapped Menelglar on the shoulder, then gripped his bicep. “Legolas is alive in Minas Tirith. With that Ranger -- Aragorn.”

A shadow passed over Menelglar’s eyes before the import of Thranduil’s words sunk in. “He is unharmed?”

Thranduil nodded slowly, long tension finally uncoiling in his chest. “He is. And staying to attend Aragorn’s coronation and wedding. A representative from our peoples should attend.” His eyes crackled with relief and pleasure at giving his dearest friend the good tidings. They both needed the welcome news. “I cannot, of course, leave, and would trust few with such an important, diplomatic mission.” He gave Menelglar a knowing smile. “Can you be ready to leave by midday?”

The overwhelming relief and unabashed love Menelglar held for Legolas outshone all other emotions in the captain’s eyes. He hugged Thranduil fiercely. “Aye, Sire.”

“Then go! What are you waiting for?” he scolded, teasing. As Menelglar shot off, Thranduil called after him, “And take Galion with you! On my order!”

Menelglar saluted, but did not stop his speedy departure. Thranduil’s lips quirked upward and he leaned back against a charred tree trunk. The tree was singed, but still strong. _’Just like my realm and people,’_ Thranduil thought. He closed his eyes and reached out, beyond the forest to something deeper, into his very lifeblood until he felt it; the gold and mithril rope coiled deep inside him. The end not anchored at the root of his being stretched out and away, tenuous and invisible to even the mind’s eye, but Thranduil could feel it, could follow it. As he did, his fatigue gradually eased, the lines on his face softening. _’Beloved,’_ he breathed, the familiar heartbeat grounding and soothing. Morhandir was safe, likely sleeping from the steady, even tenor of his pulse.

Thranduil took a few moments more, his eyes closed and his consciousness extended and intertwined with his mate’s. The respite was brief, but it calmed him, brought him back from the desolation of war and reminded him of all that was bright and beautiful in this world. His wounded heart would heal with time, just as his realm would, but for now, this was the extent of the peace he would allow himself. With two deep breaths, he straightened, his shoulders unbowed when he met with Lord Celeborn a few minutes later.

~~*~~

Thranduil slid into the steaming bath, exhaling and wincing as he settled. The heat eased his battered muscles while the herb-laced water soothed his bruised skin. He sighed and dropped his head to the side of the pool. _’Valar how he had missed the simple luxury of warm water!’_

The heat worked its magic and soon enough he was near dozing. Shaking himself, he first tended to his hair, which took three washes to clean it of ash, grime, and blood. He scrubbed his skin with the warm, fragrant sand, gritting his teeth against the sting from a myriad small cuts. He wondered if he’d ever feel completely free of the acrid stench of his forest burning.

When he was clean, his skin bright pink from the scouring, he stepped from the pool. His movements were slow and uncoordinated from exhaustion. It took an effort of will, but he pushed himself to tread the final steps to his rooms. After bolting a small meal and a hearty glass of wine, he collapsed into bed, but sleep was slow in coming -- too much carnage, too many lost, too many memories for his dreams to be peaceful.

~~*~~

Something nudged Thranduil to awareness and he blinked, his eyes flying open when he realized that he was no longer alone. His limbs were tangled with a warm body whose very heartbeat he knew better than his own. _//Morhan?//_ he prodded gently, unsure if he was yet dreaming.

Morhan stretched lazily, the coverlet slipping off his shoulder to reveal flawless pale skin. He smiled sleepily, dark eyes shining in the dim glow from the single lantern. “All is well, lover. Callon returned early and took the rest of my patrol, which was nothing more than a flimsy excuse for him to spend time with Eluross.”

Thranduil sighed, he still had not slipped free from the grip of sleep. _//I shall have to thank him.//_ He pulled Morhan closer, kissed him gently before burying his face in dark silk, his fingers sliding through still-damp strands. “I missed you,” Thranduil murmured, pleased that he did not whine.

“Is that so?” Morhan’s voice was heavy with fatigue, but it still carried the same familiar teasing affection.

“Aye. Even _this_ bed, for all its comfort, is unbearable without you in it.” Well, so much for his winning streak. _That_ was whiny. Thranduil frowned, still too tired to think clearly.

“And is that why you worked yourself to near collapse?” Morhan chided him.

Thranduil burrowed into his mate’s arms, burying his face in dark, silken strands. “You smell nice,” he murmured.

“And you—”

“We have won, but few will stay. Lord Celeborn’s forces are stretched as thin as ours and neither Elrond nor Gondor can spare troops to help with rooting out the last of the enemy. At least--”

Morhan wrapped Thranduil’s hair around his fist, tugging the king’s face up. “Enough,” he said, eyes sparking. “We are here, in this bed, together for the first time in an age, war is behind us, most of our loved ones are safe, I want no more talk of duty. There will be time enough for that. In here, there is only you and I.”

When Thranduil opened his mouth to protest, he was silenced with two fingers against his lips. Morhan’s eyes were dark, their bond a heavy pulse between them. The king’s eyes pricked under the too knowing gaze, but he didn’t look away.

Morhan replaced his fingers with his lips and Thranduil sighed, his mouth opening for the tender exploration. Fatigue ate at his vision, guilt and grief ate at his soul. And all he wanted to do was crawl into Morhan’s arms and never leave. Allow another to lead in his stead.

His mate understood all that, and more. He knew Thranduil’s burden and eased it when he could, supporting the king with his entire being so that the mantle of rule rested more easily on Thranduil’s shoulders. They’d been through much in their years together, but nothing like this. Not an all out desperate war for their very survival.

“Shhhhh, set the king aside and allow me to care for you,” Morhan crooned against Thranduil’s temple, all the while his hands were busy, one carding though the king’s hair, the other soothing the kinks from his back. “We won and we are here, together. That is all that matters in this moment.”

Their bond surged, warmth rushing through Thranduil as he gave up the fight, the pretense, the façade. He allowed the tears to fall, freeing the anguish of so many lives lost, until he was reduced to hiccupping breaths and swimming head. The catharsis robbed him of his voice, turned his limbs to rubber, and his eyelids to lead. But he was safe, secure in strong arms, swaddled in even stronger devotion and love.

Finally, finally Thranduil slept, deep and dreamless in his mate’s arms.


End file.
